


Blue and Gold

by leashy_bebes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Intoxication, M/M, anachronistic glitter, super affectionate grabby boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-04
Updated: 2011-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:31:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leashy_bebes/pseuds/leashy_bebes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's fingers are clumsy, because it's easy to pilfer extra drinks on feast nights (practically encouraged) and as well as the beer, Arthur had sneaked him a little of the mead from the royal table – <i>much</i> less watered down than what was available elsewhere in the hall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue and Gold

Arthur laughs, low and warm in his ear, and when he pulls away to look at Merlin, the flickering torches pick up the golden dust still smeared on his cheeks. Merlin's sure it's all over his own face as well, and if anyone were to see them – but he doesn't (can't) care, not when Arthur's drunk enough ale to be languid and friendly, one hand sneaking under Merlin's tunic, fingers playing across the warm skin of his lower back. Merlin can't help leaning into Arthur, a soft noise escaping his mouth.

Arthur looks inordinately pleased, and he traces one finger a bit clumsily along Merlin's jaw. "You are _drunk_ ," he says.

"So are you, my lord," Merlin points out, fingers running over the fine fabric of Arthur's clothes. Soft and warm and lovely. Everything about Arthur is lovely when he's not talking too much, and when Merlin's had a drink or two.

"Scandalous," Arthur whispers, nudging Merlin's head up to kiss him again.

It's a feast night so they have a little leeway, but probably not enough for Arthur to be pulling at Merlin's clothes right here in the corridor where anyone could see.

"Stop it," Merlin protests, but it's lost in another kiss, sweet and spicy, probably tasting like those sweets Arthur had been eating all night, licking honey and sugar from his fingers like a murderous tease. When Arthur stops kissing he stays close, close enough to touch, to – well, if it was sober and purposeful, Merlin would have no choice but to call it _nuzzling._ Arthur's drunk though, so Merlin doesn't know what to call it, but that hardly matters. Through Merlin's half closed eyes, the whole world is blue and gold and he tilts his head carefully, pressing a kiss high on Arthur's cheekbone, high enough to feel the fluttering of his lashes.

Merlin leans back against the wall Arthur's crowded him against, cool stone a pleasant sensation against his back. He presses his lips together, wants to seal the flavour into his mouth. Arthur laughs, touches him again, jaw, lips, eyebrow.

"You've got gold on you," he says.

"Whose fault is that?" Merlin asks, and only then realises he's still got one hand on Arthur's waist, restless, feeling, wanting. No wonder Arthur never listens when Merlin tells him that maybe doing this in plain view (or behind a tapestry just outside the throne room, or in the stables, or in Gaius's _workshop_ – no, nope, not thinking about that one) isn't the best idea. Merlin has to admit he doesn't really cut a persuasive figure when he just can't stop touching Arthur.

Another kiss, tasting of ale and incense and sweet foods and _Arthur_. Merlin doesn't know where to put his hands, whether to try making his way through the layers of Arthur's regal garb, or to take the easy route and tangle in his hair, guide him closer and keep him there. Just then there's a clatter and raucous laughter from further down the hallway. Merlin tenses against Arthur, who just laughs and murmurs,

"I should have you right here. Where anyone can see, so they know."

It should make him scared, because Merlin is definitely the one who'd get into the most trouble, but right now, he'd take it that way if he had to, Arthur's fingers against his mouth, nipping at them to hold his silence, Arthur's breath hot and heavy in his ear, everywhere, all around him. Arthur kisses him again, one hard thigh slotting neatly between Merlin's legs, making him gasp into Arthur's mouth. Arthur's hand fists in Merlin's tunic, pulling him impossibly closer, and everything's hot and secret and wonderful.

"But I want you," Arthur mutters against Merlin's mouth, and Merlin wonders if he's meant to be keeping up with, or maybe even taking part in this conversation. "I want to spread you out and touch you everywhere, want all those sweet little noises you make, _God_ , Merlin you have no idea."

He presses his forehead against Merlin's for a moment, eyes closed. Merlin keeps his open, and this close Arthur is just a blur, soft skin and the gold dust that's spread out from his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose until he looks like the sun. That seems very important for reasons Merlin can't quite place.

"You look like the sun," Merlin tells him and Arthur laughs suddenly, grabbing Merlin's wrist and pulling him away from the wall.

Somewhere on the way to his rooms, Arthur's grip shifts from Merlin's wrist to his hand. They don't mention it.

***

"Oh," Merlin says, when they stumble into Arthur's room and find the table set with wine and a tray well stocked with fruit and more of those little pastries. "Someone's leaving you _gifts_."

The silence is just long enough for the world to tilt a little because Arthur has – Arthur was planning – oh.

"Oh," he says again.

Arthur catches him around the waist from behind, nosing and then – oh _god_ – actually worrying Merlin's neckerchief with his _teeth_ in a bid to get at the skin underneath. One warm kiss, another, and he says, "Stay a while?"

Merlin looks at the pair of goblets, the two small plates. He thinks he knows Arthur better than anyone, but the man can still surprise him sometimes, with unexpected, clumsy, achingly heartfelt gestures that make Merlin's breath catch in his throat. He moves to pour wine for them both but Arthur pulls him close again, kissing the hot skin behind his ear and spreading warm palms across Merlin's ribs.

"Leave that," he says, his breath close enough to make a shiver run the length of Merlin's spine.

"You don't want a drink?" Merlin asks, fitting the fingers of one hand between Arthur's, coaxing him into a harder grip. He likes to feel it, whatever they do, likes to feel it properly.

"There's other things I want more," Arthur says, and he's so close, pressing his hard length against Merlin that there can be no doubt about what he wants. Merlin turns his head, his cheek bumping Arthur's, far enough to steal a kiss. Arthur lets him turn around properly after a moment and Merlin lifts his hands to fiddle with the ornate clasp of Arthur's cloak, conscious that Arthur in all his regal get-up has Merlin at a serious disadvantage, clothes-wise.

Merlin's fingers are clumsy, because it's easy to pilfer extra drinks on feast nights (practically encouraged) and as well as the beer, Arthur had sneaked him a little of the mead from the royal table – _much_ less watered down than what was available elsewhere in the hall. But Arthur's kisses don't help either, one melting into the next and then the next, Merlin's capacity for thought rapidly disappearing.

Of course, Merlin's simple servant garb is a lot easier for Arthur to divest him of than Arthur's formal clothes are for Merlin to deal with. Before long Merlin's shivering in just his breeches, and he's only managed to get rid of Arthur's cloak, dropping it heedlessly to the floor when Arthur pulls him in for a kiss, slow and lazy.

"You're cold," Arthur says, and he presses his hands to Merlin's shoulder blades, slides them down his back in a deliberate movement that brings Merlin closer, makes it even harder to deal with all the bindings on Arthur's clothes. Why _are_ there so many, anyway?

"It's okay," Merlin says, refocusing his attention on the criss-cross of laces at the throat of Arthur's over-shirt.

Arthur pushes him gently back though and nods towards the bed. "Go on, it's alright."

"Mmm. 'kay," Merlin says agreeably, leaning forward for another clumsy kiss before he pads off to the bed and allows himself to fall down into the luxurious furs. His head is – not swimming, exactly, but certainly feels thicker than usual. He blinks his eyes slowly once, and then Arthur's at the side of the bed and miraculously free of all his finery, just a soft brown tunic and breeches.

Merlin tuts and says, "I see you manage to dress and undress yourself when it's in your best interests to do so."

"My _best interests_ , hmm? And what would you know about that?" Arthur asks, dropping to sit on the bed at Merlin's side.

Merlin waves a hand vaguely. "Oh, you know. Everything."

Arthur laughs and leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Merlin's mouth. "Is that so?"

Merlin returns the kiss, slow and lingering and wet, and then nods contentedly, curling his fingers through Arthur's hair and muttering, "Everything."

Arthur traces a finger along the waist of Merlin's breeches, light enough to make him shiver. Then it's a thumb brushing the line of his hip, pressing hard enough on the bone that he wriggles and yelps and Arthur laughs again, his free hand cupping Merlin's jaw. He turns his head and presses a kiss into Arthur's palm, and then can't resist licking his skin wetly.

"Ugh. _Mer_ lin!"

"Sorry," Merlin says unrepentantly.

"I'll just bet," Arthur mutters, and Merlin watches, lazy and comfortable as Arthur removes his tunic. He lifts one hand, beckons him closer, and smiles when Arthur comes easily, leaning down for another kiss, sprawling between Merlin's splayed legs to kiss from his mouth to his jaw, down his throat, across his chest. Merlin curls his hand tighter in Arthur's hair, arching his body up towards Arthur's warm mouth.

There are candles in the corners of the room, at the head of the bed. Everything is golden with soft light, blurred by the drag of callused hands over his skin. Arthur kisses his way back up Merlin's body, cups his hand around the back of Merlin's neck, and licks at the seam of his lips and then into his mouth, hot and possessive and urgent. When Arthur lifts his head Merlin chases him for another kiss and they both make soft satisfied noises before Arthur pushes him back down and murmurs, "No, no, wait a minute."

He moves until he's kneeling astride Merlin's narrow hips, and although he's leaning over, doing something Merlin should probably be paying attention to, all he can look at is the tight stretch of Arthur's thighs through his breeches. He bites his lip and lifts his hand to trail his finger along the inside of Arthur's thigh. Arthur jolts and looks down at him with something like amusement in his eyes.

"Naughty," he breathes, and Merlin hiccups with laughter again, running his hand up to Arthur's hip. He's so focused on tracing the shape of it that he's surprised when Arthur presses something to his mouth. He pulls back awkwardly and squints to see one of the small sweet pastries from Arthur's tray. Arthur nudges the sweet against Merlin's lips again and he laughs.

"What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Nothing!" Arthur says defensively. "Why, are you complaining?"

Just to recap: naked, drunk, crown prince's bed, being fed delicacies. "Not complaining," Merlin says, and takes the sweet.

"Good," Arthur nods, and he reaches down, brushing a few crumbs of pastry from Merlin's lower lip before sucking his own thumb into his mouth, cleaning it off. Merlin makes a happy sound and licks his lips, tasting honey and almonds. "Another?" Arthur offers, and Merlin nods.

The next sweet, Arthur drops, and it lands with a soft noise on Merlin's chest, sticky. Arthur mutters a curse but then he drops his head and picks it up with his teeth – with his fucking _teeth_ – and brings it up to Merlin's mouth that way instead. They share it clumsily, flakes of pastry and smears of sugar. Arthur's tongue curls out again and again to chase the sticky sweetness, flicking at Merlin's lips, muttering soft incomprehensible words against his jaw. Merlin reaches up to tangle his hands in Arthur's hair. His fingers feel thick and clumsy but Arthur lets himself be steered in for a kiss, their mouths meeting with soft, wet sounds.

Merlin shifts his hands down, Arthur's skin hot under his palms, soft and fine where he presses his fingers harder into Arthur's muscles. He can't help a whine of protest when Arthur pulls away from him, soon settling when Arthur reaches for the tray again. The next time Arthur's hand returns there's no sweet, but his fingers are red, dripping wine onto the bedsheets as he moves. Merlin groans and pushes himself half upright, mouth already open, already reaching.

The wine is strong, spiced, still warm, and Merlin moves without any kind of pretence or plan, just thirsty, cleaning Arthur's hand a finger at a time. Arthur's breath goes ragged around the edges, but slow, strangely controlled, and he reaches over for more wine. It's hardly any kind of way to drink; Merlin's just getting the flavour more than anything else, heady alcohol and Arthur's skin underneath it. For his part, Arthur picks up the goblet and takes a healthy drink. Merlin clumsily pushes himself half-upright and kisses Arthur's wine-red mouth.

"Want you," Merlin mumbles happily.

"Then you shall have me," Arthur promises grandly.

"Good," Merlin says. "Good."

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on LJ [here](http://leashy-bebes.livejournal.com/208000.html)


End file.
